


(lying) in your defeat

by Archistratego



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen, I have no idea what I'm doing, M/M, Mutual Pining, That's Not How The Force Works, chiss ocs - Freeform, force sensitive Thrawn, ozyly-esehembo, questionable lack of caps, sort of timey-whimey shenanigans, spoilers for Thrawn Alliances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-06-29 11:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15728925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archistratego/pseuds/Archistratego
Summary: Time is easy to keep but difficult to endure when you are lying in your defeat, suffocating within a cold embrace.Separated by galaxies, Eli and Thrawn think of each other knowing there might be no way back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [13th_blackbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/13th_blackbird/gifts).



> For the lovely [13th_blackbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/13th_blackbird/pseuds/13th_blackbird)! I hope this is to your liking, I got a bit carried away aksjdaklsda. All mistakes and errors and typos are mine, rip.

There is an unexpected ache within whenever Eli misses his old life; in Csilla, where vast cities are spread beneath, a snow and glaciers wasteland above, he misses the skyline of Coruscant; buzzing traffic, artificial lights making the nights brighter than the days. He misses the levels, the chaotic energy brewing in the lower levels. He misses the familiar emblem of the Chimaera, worn with pride by those under Thrawn’s command.

Eli was no exception back then, though now he covers up the outline of ink on his inner wrist.

The decision had been taken during a moment of significant inebriation; a celebratory action intended as a commemoration of his new rank and the ISD that was put at Thrawn’s command.

Really, Eli would say that it had been Thrawn’s fault as it was based on the newly painted underbelly of the Chimaera, the white and grey and black: the swirling heads and open maws that reminded Eli of black holes. Except these were outline with teeth and the certain promise of death.

The crude needle of the planet they were stationed on took forever, but in the end it was worth it — the lines were clean and symmetric; the end design wasn’t gaudy, Thrawn had taken Eli’s wrist and examined it closely before stating his approval with a small smile.

Now, standing on the bridge of what would be the equivalent of a ISD for the Chiss, Eli clasps his wrists and presses down; he misses and misses and misses — like a sickness festering between his ribs.

“Commander Vanto,” Ar’alani is the standard all Chiss serving in the Defence Fleet aspire to. She commands without question and in her decisions and actions Eli seems a glimmer of Thrawn’s teachings. He thinks of asking one day which of one of them was the teacher or whether they built each other, whispering strategies and arguing behind closed doors. “My office.”

He follows her wordlessly, knowing better than to question until she is ready to do so. Eli stands straight, shoulders back and head held high. He’s here as Eli Vanto, an outsider, a human, and carries Thrawn’s legacy in a holopad (missing the part that is now coded inside him, in his mind, his words, his tactics).

Eli waits but he already knows, a testament to how far his observation skills have come. In Ar’alani’s stoic face, the slight slant of her mouth, in this chosen setting Eli knows.

And this is a kindness from Ar’alani because the news she delivers would be expected to be taken with professional stoicism, and that is something Eli has not quite mastered.

Grief thick like bile burns his throat; his shoulders slump, hands clasped together like old times, body giving away his thoughts.

“The Empire has lost Lothal, the 7th destroyed and the Chimaera gone missing.”

Missing is better than _destroyed_ , Eli reasons, missing is better than _dead_.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn always has a plan.” And that is that. Eli would like to think that he’d know if Thrawn were dead. The absence of his presence would echo across the galaxy and create a vacuum that could not be filled.

Eli would know.

Admiral Ar’alani does not argue, as long as Eli Vanto is performing his job without hesitation the grieving process is on him and him alone.

 

* * *

 

“How to anticipate your opponent, right?” Eli’s accent was a little more pronounced, lying on his back, pinned between Thrawn’s body and the mat. He wriggled and he felt the pressure increase against his neck as Thrawn used his forearm to keep him from attempting an escape.

Thrawn, in his neatly ironed cadet uniform, seemed tense. The telltale sign of it a tightening of the muscles on his throat before he rolled off Eli.

“That’s how you keep winning, isn’t it? You anticipate my every move and that is why — why I can’t beat you because you can read me too well.”

“Perhaps. Most remarkable associations are between partners able to anticipate the other’s moves. They move seamlessly.”

Eli rolled his eyes, “I’m learning too, I can tell when you don’t want to answer directly. I doubt we’ll be stuck together long enough to be that good.” But he took Thrawn’s offered hand, feeling the Chiss’ grip on the pulse of his wrist — Eli ignored the quickening pulse.

This academy coexistence was but a temporary situation.

 

* * *

 

Time is easy to keep but difficult to endure when you are lying in your defeat, suffocating within a cold embrace.

The strategy had been flawless — but the _Force_.

His thoughts go out of sync as the stars race past; he can feel something squeeze until his bones tremble, in danger of shattering and he’s limp.

And Thrawn dreams: he sees Eli reaching into the constellations around him, as if he could cradle the wreckage between his fingers and hold it to his chest.

He sees (double vision: here and there, beneath Csilla’s skies: a splintering society, factions turning and _war_. Eli’s profile staring at his reflection; agitated and wide-eyed, reaching out and uttering his name, his voice familiar with it’s Basic enunciation —

And Eli sees _him_.)

It’s a tapestry of blurred stars that slowly comes into focus, unknown constellations slotting into place and Thrawn lets his consciousness go, exhausted and too tired to fight the purrgils and the Jedi.

(double echo, two distinct voices overlapped as they call out his name: _Thrawn_.

One belongs to Eli, and Thrawn knows Eli Vanto better than he knows himself: Eli will come.)

The trick is to survive.

 

* * *

 

Aboard a ship beneath another set of constellations, Eli stares at his reflection on the glass — he could’ve sworn he just saw Thrawn, heard him call Eli’s name. It had not been a product of his imagination even if Eli doesn’t understand why or _how_.

He feels a weight in his mind; a second presence has been anchored within, the bare brush of a familiar consciousness that Eli knows well. Just not like _this_ : a constant humming, emotions vibrating down the taut string between.

“Mitth’raw’nuroudo.”

He casts a quick glance at the young chiss girl that has materialised by his side. His pilot, assigned to him despite ongoing protests about using children for war. “That is him in your head, Commander Vanto.”

Eli feels his Chenuh is inadequate because it simply isn’t possible to have someone in his head. Not how this implies: a second consciousness nestled alongside his own, a bond. Though he has heard rumours of Chiss pilots having such abilities. Eli, however, has no such talents — never has.

His pilot takes Eli’s silence as permission to explain further, “Sometimes,” she hesitates, “When things are very dangerous, we can — those of us who — we can call for help. It is rare but not unheard of.”

“You’re telling me that Admiral Mitth’raw’nuroudo was a pilot?” Eli feels the urge to pull at his head and scream at Thrawn for - once again - keeping Eli in the dark about _everything_.

“Yes, Commander.”

“And if I - if _we_  - follow this bond we can find him?”

“Yes,” She straightens proudly, worrying at her lip as she considers, “It might take us a while especially since you’re not like us but it isn’t impossible.” Her willingness to help him makes Eli feel all the more determined to protect her and other chiss children from the factions willing to use them without remorse.

Eli smiles, offering his hand, “Will you please help me find him?”

She turns a light shade of purple, and takes Eli’s hand squeezing it like a lifeline. “Yes, sir!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To know your path and be held back is frustrating, for a person of Eli's temperament it is agony. _For Thrawn, Eli would burn down half the galaxy, Ar’alani is certain._
> 
> Happy [Eli Vanto Week!](https://elivantoweek.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation for [13th_blackbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/13th_blackbird/) who is amazing. Chiss oc belongs to [Cosmik Debris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moggio/pseuds/Cosmik%20debris) I'm just borrowing them briefly.

“You never told me he was an _ozyly-esehembo_.”

Ar’alani feels a pulsing headache build behind her eyes. For all of Eli Vanto’s tact, when it comes to Mitth’raw’nuruodo there are no boundaries that cannot be crossed. For Thrawn, Eli would burn down half the galaxy, Ar’alani is certain — he is remarkably like his mentor that way, once their minds are set on a particular goal they will become a major headache to those in near proximity; in this case Ar’alani.

“And what would that have changed?” Her choice of language, Sy Bisti, is meant as an indication that Eli has tread too far, as well as a desire for privacy. “Living with us for as long as you have, Eli Vanto, do you still know so little of the Chiss?”

Her words have the desired effect. A look of guilt crosses Eli’s face and he averts his eyes. “No, I-” He trails off, trying to phrase his thoughts with a cooler head, “I do know, but, it feels like something I ought to have been told.”

Ar’alani lifts one eyebrow and waits for Eli to accept what he already knows: that this is Thrawn, and he is all about playing cards close to his chest. Nothing is done without reason or long-term purpose.

“Perhaps he didn’t feel it relevant given what happens when children grow up.” Eli says, making an impressive attempt at keeping his tone impassive, but Ar’alani can hear the disapproval underlining that statement.

Eli Vanto does not approve, but must accept the continuous use sky-walkers. They will do their duty, and so will Eli.

_Tradition_ , Eli had spat scornfully during an argument that had nearly gotten him discharged from the CEDF, _they’re children._

He had been forced to apologise and settled since, quietly seething now and again.

As long as he keeps his insubordination in check, Ar’alani turns a blind eye to his passive-aggressive comments about the use of ozyly-esehembo.

Besides, Eli Vanto is good with the pilots. Mitth’raw’nuruodo had not been mistaken in his reports about Eli Vanto’s remarkable empathy, intelligence, and adaptability. He handles his assigned pilot with a kindness that Ar’alani found unconventional, and yet it proved effective. She is a practical woman, in the end, results are what the Aristocra is after. If Eli Vanto wishes to parent the ozyly-esehembo, that is his business, and a harsh awakening awaits him when he realises the costs of becoming too fond of other soldiers.

She can indulge some unorthodoxy from Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s protege.

“If you truly want to find him, I suggest you turn your endless perseverance in another direction.” She says, pausing to let the words sink in. “Dismissed, commander.”

 

* * *

 

Thrawn’s presence feels like a heartbeat that echoes in the hollowness of his absence. A marked ache at the back of Eli’s mind. It is like holding Thrawn’s lifeline in his hands and itching to pull him home.

_Thrawn —_ the longing in his tone makes it difficult to breathe.

An answer echoes, filled with static, only _Eli_ is discernible, and frustration crashes like a tidal wave against the shore, sweeping and engulfing everything in its path.

Late at night, when he feels Thrawn across the galaxy, his phantom touch is like an open wound; Eli can’t stop the ache, no matter how deep he presses down — there’s just no respite.

Distance makes it easy to forget — Eli had pinned for years, then left for the Ascendancy, and the rhythm of his new life prevented him from missing Thrawn too much. However, now that he is a constant presence in his mind, Eli finds that he can’t stand it.

_I’ll find you, I swear_ — Eli focuses that sentence into the bond, hoping that Thrawn will hear it.

(In a galaxy far, far away — Ezra Bridger, the Jedi, feels the muted output of Thrawn’s feelings; the Chiss’ mind is closed to him except for these tendrils that seep out, unwillingly. He pretends not to notice them, affording Thrawn a modicum of privacy in their currently decaying situation which is filled with instability.

Thrawn is certain that they will be found but Ezra isn’t sure how much of that is sheer stubbornness rather than a fair assessment of their situation.

There have been changes, and at night, Ezra feels an unknown presence join Thrawn — it is like looking at someone through a heavy shroud, Ezra can make out the shape, the shadows but not the features. Ezra isn’t particularly worried. Through the force they feel warm and human and _raw_.

Like they’re stumbling blindly into Thrawn’s mind and trying to find a safe foothold from where they could properly climb and latch onto Thrawn.)

 

* * *

 

Eli dreams of Thrawn sitting among the ruins of his ship, mourning the Chimaera’s demise. He’s outwardly impassive as ever despite the surge of emotion as he comes to terms with his situation.

Eli’s sleep is, predictably, terrible, and the next morning he feels like a reanimated corpse sitting in his office with maps of known galaxies projected around. He has been gathering all known information and obsessively organising it in spreadsheets.

The door of his office opens without warning, “You missed dinner.” Hess’tasvi’nuruodo says, frowning from where she stands. No doubt she can see the dark circles around Eli’s eyes, the disarray of his normally neat office. “Are you —” She hesitates, still not used to asking straight forward personal questions. That is too human, too inappropriate for Chiss who value directness in formal affairs only, and feigned ignorance in regards to personal problems.

Eli’s bond with Mitth’raw’nuruodo falls into the latter category.

“I’m fine,” Eli rubs his eyes and forces a smile. “There’s too much information to get through before we depart.”

“Eli…” Tasvi trails off, uncertain.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Eli repeats a little more firmly, “I just need —” He’s watching Tasvi’s face, the concern obvious to someone used to reading Chiss expressions. If he were in her place and she denied everything, Eli would’ve been pretty upset. At the same time, this is his burden — Thrawn is his responsibility, from the moment Eli had asked whether or not Sy Bisti was better.

“— I actually need a little help.” Eli watches Tasvi perk up immediately. Good. “I need to transfer all of this data and can’t do it alone.”

Together they set out to work, and after a few hours Eli carries a sleepy Tasvi to bed before he calls it a night.

 

* * *

 

standing at the edge of his subconsciousness, Eli feels warm; a heavy weight settles over, like sandbags stacked over his shoulders.

restriction, limitation. where he wants (needs, needs, desperately) to go slips further.

he thinks of Thrawn’s patient hand on his shoulder; a token of unspoken affection.

that difficult goodbye, the hanging guilt of pretended indifference: _well, I won’t keep you_ — when Eli had meant _finish your mission and we’ll see each other soon, please_

_Eli_ — not his voice, not a trick of his mind; Thrawn’s touch light against the nape of his neck. _you will find_ — static, a cool mouth over his, then silence.

the realisation feels as if he’s cracked his ribs, then peeled them back one by one — agonisingly slow.

he needs, desperately, to see Thrawn again. if he has to tear his way through planets, systems, galaxies — Eli will.


	3. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Maths and spreadsheets and maps and calculations can only get one so far. The depths of space are filled with terrible things._
> 
> _Within uncertainty, hope is permissible._

Eli travels to a place where thunder causes the ship to tremble; overhead, lighting streaked skies ground them for days that become weeks that become months.

(In the meantime: Jedah splits in half; Scarif burns, razed; Alderaan ceases existing in the blink of an eye, and then, finally, a space station shatters, spreading chunks of metal and bodies across the expanse of space.

They’re _winning_ , the Rebellion claims.

They’re _losing_ , the Empire replies.

Neither true nor false. What is happening: countless lives are lost, on both sides.

The Ascendancy turns a blind eye — they have their own problems, Mitth’raw’nuruodo has many enemies. They’re glad he is dead).

Eli sends in his report to Ar’alani. There is no reason to do so, he has found nothing — he’s chasing an imprint of a bond he barely understands. For that matter, the ozyly- esehembo don’t either despite their Force abilities.

Eli may be one step above a rock in terms of Force sensitivity but that is still too many steps below anything noteworthy.

Sometimes, when the nights feel especially lonely, Eli is terrified of silence; the connection changing from static into nothing— Thrawn’s presence possibly extinguished from the galaxy.

He rubs his eyes and makes caf while he waits for the storm to pass. The ship’s hull withstands the lightning, wind and rain. It cannot contain Eli’s longing that spills, causing Tasvi to give him convert glances during mealtimes.

 _Nothing, nothing, nothing at all._ Eli sighs, shoulders slumped.

Maths and spreadsheets and maps and calculations can only get one so far. The depths of space are filled with terrible things.

Within uncertainty, hope is permissible.

As long as Thrawn’s presence is palpable, there is hope. Eli has no desire to feel that connection die if something were to happen to Thrawn — _but it won’t because it is Thrawn_ , a mantra to repeat every night before he closes his eyes.

While weathering the storm, Thrass asks him, his transmission a pale blue hue, “What do you think will happen when you find him?”

Eli feels a knot in his throat, “I don’t know. Haven’t thought that far, I just want to see him again.” Simple, straight-forward.

Thrass does not message again.

Eli isn’t sad to leave this planet to wander further. He is on the right path because Thrawn’s presence feels more solid the deeper they travel into those hyperlanes. His ozyly-esehembo sees them safely through them.

They’re treading into the edges of the Ascendancy where the threats against the Chiss gather in their different forms. Conquerors, traitors, pirates, criminal syndicates.

(A long, long time into the future, in these regions the remnants of the Empire will flee and begin gathering their forces again. They will start here, in the Unknown, while the Chiss once again turn a blind eye to the restlessness outside their borders).

At their next destination, Eli dons a pair of dusty trousers, plain shirt and leather holster, heads into a cantina where smugglers are known to swap gossip for a drink or four.

He takes a deep breath and remembers his training.

(A place far, far away where he had worn Thrawn’s jacket with a blaster bolt burn — too big on him, itchy, and felt too conscious over the fact he was wearing _Thrawn’s jacket_ to concentrate. Recalls the weight of two blasters.

And Thrawn had been right, as always, he had known when to press the button).

Eli already has his spiel thought out when he pushes the door open. _So, how about those Purrgils?_

It goes surprisingly well.


End file.
